


Our Human Nature

by StolenChilde



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Castiel-centric, Dean-gets-a-clue, Fallen Castiel, Gen, Hunter!Castiel, M/M, Mild Language, Minor Character Death, Pre-Slash, possible scariness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-02
Updated: 2012-04-02
Packaged: 2017-11-02 22:43:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/374167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StolenChilde/pseuds/StolenChilde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following his saving grace in the form of Dean Winchester, Castiel finds himself in an interesting position. Hunting now, by Sam and Dean’s sides Castiel grows and changes. Dean has some changing to do of his own. Things he always knew but never quite explored bleed to the surface, but will it be too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Human Nature

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this follows my previous much shorter story [Harmony](http://stolen-childe.livejournal.com/82892.html), not strictly necessary to read but it gives some insight into Castiel. I set out intending to write a Halloween fic, using this case as an intro into it, but it turned into a monster of its own. Don’t know if I’ll get around to writing the other fic but the notes are still jotted down. We’ll just have to see. I’m rather proud of this piece. Please enjoy!

**Our Human Nature**

Castiel cracked open an eye and glared up at the grinning Dean. He was tired damnit and wanted to sleep. Dean refused to allow it because apparently ever since his whole sojourn into domesticity the green eyed man got up a hell of a lot earlier than he used to in his days before the Year-of-the-Picket-Fence. Castiel decided not to respond to Dean’s constant prodding and rolled over, pulling the blanket up to his hair. It didn’t work and Castiel wasn’t surprised. The former angel huffed and threw off the blankets, slinking over to the edge of the bed and sitting there in a pouty slump for a few moments before he decided to get up. He headed straight for the washroom, determined to get his shower which was the first step in waking up for him.

The flat motel carpet was itchy under his bare feet and he looked suspiciously down at the brown fibres. He had grown increasingly suspicious of germs and contaminants ever since he had that horrible attack of influenza that had him in bed for over a week and feeling like he had just gone ten rounds with Raphael. Castiel shuddered at the memory and let the lukewarm water trickle over his skin. He realized quickly that he didn’t like showers too warm unless his body was thrumming with pain from a recent hunt and that cold showers only served their purpose when he caught himself staring at Dean half-dressed and walking around the motel room sometimes. Sometimes Castiel thought Dean did it on purpose. Not that Castiel didn’t retaliate. He grinned to himself and grabbed the smallest white towel off the rack, wrapping it loosely around his hips. He left the bathroom and walked over to Dean’s duffle bag rummaging for clothing. He let the towel slip just slightly and took his time raising it. A moment later Cas heard a sharp intake of breath followed by the slamming of the motel door. Castiel decided to count that one as a win.

Castiel finally found the least dirty pair of jeans that Dean didn’t already have on his person and pulled a clean t-shirt out of their dwindling supply. He opted against a button down, the weather had been oddly warm for October and Castiel didn’t need the hassle of overheating. He groaned a little as he realized it was his turn to do the laundry and glared viciously down at the innocent pile of rifled through clothing. It was a look he had used to smite lesser beings in his day. The pile of clothing remained unfazed. Castiel again, wasn’t surprised. His smiting days were over and Dean never failed to remind him of that fact.

Though he was glad to have been promoted from “baby in a trench coat” to “bunny on steroids” he was still a small woodland animal in Dean’s eyes. Cas knew he still had some work to do to get up to par with the Winchesters and there were many times still that he wished he hadn’t fallen and he was still his angelic self. But he had made a horrible error in judgement and he had been punished accordingly. God to human in one fell swoop and all it took were a few murmured words from Dean.

-*-

_“You will bow down and profess your love unto me, your Lord. Or I shall destroy you,” the intoned words had Dean’s eyes wide and quivering. He looked at Castiel, stared deep into him and tried to find his Cas in there somewhere, tried to pull him out just by sheer power of will and knew he would need more help than that._

_“O-okay Cas, sure thing,” Dean said slowly, cautiously like talking to a bomber with his finger on the trigger. Dean slowly lowered himself to his knees and he could feel Bobby’s eyes boring into him and sense Sam’s shock, disbelief and betrayal from across the room but it wasn’t what they thought._

_**Dear Lord, please, you have to be listening to me right now, because I need your help more than ever before. Cas needs you, he needs you to fix him. This isn’t what he is God, you know that as well as I do. You know what’s really in Castiel’s heart and he was forced to make some shitty decisions without asking the proper questions. Please, please pull him back from this. Please return him to me.** _

_“Please God, bring him back,” Dean finished aloud._

_“Who do you wish for me to br—“ but Castiel’s words were cut off before he could finish the sentence and his head was flung back arms spread at his side as he began to vibrate and glow a blinding golden-white. Dean swallowed and thought this was it, this was the end, the nuke in Castiel’s body finally chose the moment to blow and their corner of the world would be scorched off the map in an instant. Dean raised his arms and shut his eyes, preparing for the worst._

_What he wasn’t expecting was to hear a soft ‘flump’ of a body hitting the floor and when Dean opened his eyes again the light was cleared and there lay Cas huddled, unmoving in his ridiculous trench-coat. Dean rushed to his side, not sure exactly how to test the vitals of an angel and just stared down at him, his heart breaking ever more with each ticking second of no movement. And then Castiel sat up with a gasp as he started inhaling harsh fast pants. Inhaling. Breath. Breathing!_

_Dean’s gaze was locked on Castiel’s face and quivering body, waiting for what would happen next. Castiel turned quickly towards Dean reaching out and a short loud cry followed the movement. He held his hand to his chest and looked down mystified as it came away bloody._

_“Oh God,” Dean uttered. “Bobby! We need a hospital now!”_

-*-

Castiel shook his head at the memory putting a hand over the phantom pain in his chest. It was healed now… mostly, but the scar the stab of the angel blade had left behind was angry and pink looking still, scar tissue puckered and twisted. It would fade somewhat, but forever he would carry the faintly star-shaped scar on his chest. He thanked whoever was listening that Sam addled from hell and desperate had missed anything vital. Or perhaps not dying was his parting gift from God. The real God. The true God. Castiel felt a twinge of shame and guilt as he exited the motel room, making sure the door was locked behind him.

Dean was there, leaning against the hood of the Impala, two to-go coffee cups in hand. He held the one with the dangling teabag tag out to Castiel who took it gratefully and shivered slightly. He frowned. Well it _had_ been unseasonably warm. Dean rolled his eyes, setting down his coffee, he first shucked off his jacket and then his button down. He handed the latter to Castiel before sliding the jacket back over his shoulders.

“It’s scary how well I know you,” Dean commented flatly. Castiel readily accepted the over shirt and relished in Dean’s residual warmth sinking into his skin, that combined with the scent of Dean’s spicy warm cologne and aftershave made a different warmth that was not at all external settle into his chest and make his stomach flop over. Castiel found the sensation frightening at first, but he was surprised at how used to it he had become over the months of it being a frequent companion – in Dean’s presence at least.

“Thank you,” Castiel said quietly.

Dean walked around the Impala and held open the passenger side door, “No worries. Come on, Sammy’s doing the research thing, we’re gonna meet him at the library to see what he found out.”

Castiel nodded and slid into the car. Dean shut the door behind him before crossing around and snagging their coffee cups from the hood. He handed them to Castiel through the open window before sliding into the car as well. Castiel took a sip of his tea and closed his eyes. Dean did know him too well: Earl Grey extra hot, black with honey not sugar. Castiel smiled.

-*-

Sam shrugged as he pushed the papers across the table, his tight chicken scratch scrawled across. There wasn’t much there and Dean quirked a brow wondering if little Sammy had lost his Research-Fu.

“That’s it, a page and a half?” Dean asked.

“Dude, I’ve been here for _hours_ while you two love-birds have been sleeping the morning away. I combed every source I could find, there just isn’t much here. The odd occurrences started about a year and a half ago, shortly after the old lady’s son-in-law disappeared. No violent deaths in the house, no curses in the family, hell Grandma’s captain of her crochet club and chair in the Seniors’ League at the centre she attends. She’s a squeaky clean, cookie baking, bake sale running for charity, former cheerleader, old lady,” Sam said exasperated.

“Former cheerleader?” Dean the cad flashed a grin at his brother, choosing to studiously ignore the ‘love-birds’ comment.

“Dude, gross,” Sam said flatly with bitch-face proudly in play.

“There a picture?” a lecherous eyebrow lift accompanied Dean’s question. The older Winchester didn’t wait for a response and started rifling through a pile of articles Sam had copied. Most of it was society stuff, and there was one from the Lincoln High School _Gazette_ , 1952: “Lacey J. Freeman leads cheer team to spirited victory against rival school!” The sweaters were a bit bulky for Dean’s taste and the skirts far too long but there was no denying that Lacey J. was a looker in her day and basically every jock and greasers dream of the times. Light hair, light eyes, defined features and stacked. Dean whistled low just to freak Sam out more and put the article back.

Sam made a face, followed by an eye roll then said, “She’s Lacey J. Gray-Philips now. First husband David Gray died seven years into their marriage, six months later she married Edward Philips. He lasted nearly twenty years. She had a daughter, Linda, with Gray. A son Edward Junior and a daughter Debra with Philips. It was Debra’s husband who disappeared. I should tell you, Debra’s second husband. Hubby number one is some high class banker in New York. Hubby two, Steve, owned the family store with his sister. Steve and Debra were married for just over a year.”

“Mmm… Hubby One was quite the catch, rich and successful, Hubby Two not-so-much, can’t imagine Miss Cheer Queen ’52: Lacey J. Freeman would appreciate the downsizing… Prenup?” Dean mused.

“Yeah, but a decent amount was agreed upon in event of infidelity and…” Sam let it hang.

“There’s _always_ infidelity,” Dean finished.

Castiel looked between both Winchesters, he had been human for nearly five months now but there was still much he didn’t understand, “I’m unfamiliar with what you are discussing.”

“Prenup, yeah? ‘Cause I’m sure you know infidelity, it being a sin and all… Prenuptial Agreement, it keeps rich and powerful husbands (or wives) from losing all their riches and power if the Little Woman (or Man) decides that life is better without him/her or vice versa. There’s often clauses in there in the event that one or both parties don’t exactly keep to the marriage vows and decide to stray. Usually in a case like this where rich hubby is the unfaithful one the little wife gets a good chunk of his money… Let’s face it, rich dudes are often skeazy… you’d think they’d learn… so basically what it comes right down to is Debbie’s probably pretty set so money isn’t a factor here and she definitely wouldn’t marry a good ol’ shop-keep if it were. Back to the Mom had a beef angle then?”

“That’s what I’m thinking… but this could just be a run-of-the-mill police case. I’m actually not sure if there’s a job here,” Sam sighed.

“We should investigate the home of Mrs. Gray-Philips,” Castiel offered.

“Took the words right out of my mouth Cas… They grow up so fast, huh Sammy?” Dean gave Sam a feigned lip quiver as he widened his eyes. “Think he can get his Angry Kitten badge?”

Sam gave another long-suffering eye roll, “Don’t listen to him Cas, he’s just jealous ‘cause more girls hit on you than him now.” Dean glared at him, Sam ignored it and continued, “Let’s go. FBI or electric company?”

“Option B, we’ll just say dear Eddie Jr. sent us,” Dean rose to his feet gathering a few of the papers, Castiel and Sam helping.

“I don’t have clothing suited for an employee of the electric company,” Castiel remarked.

“We’ll take care of it, there was a thrift store back in town, we should find something there,” Dean patted the former angel on the shoulder and led him from the library without removing his hand. Sam watched bemused.

-*-

As it turned out the old lady was pathetically easy to fool and she was only too eager to believe “Sweet Eddie” sent them because, “that was just like him to look out for his old mum.” Dean left Sam to beguile Mrs. Lacey J. with Castiel as back-up for lie-detecting purposes (though technically juice-less Castiel still retained some higher than average perception and senses) while Dean scoured the old Edwardian-style home “checking the wiring.” Lacey J. waved him off upon his explanation seemingly enthralled with Sam. If that kid wasn’t cougar-bait (but given her age Dean would have to go with Sabre Tooth bait on this one) Dean didn’t know what was.

He chuckled to himself slightly as he descended the stairs leading to the basement. His busted up Walkman held at the ready but no buzzing and no blinking lights greeted him. EMF was clean. Dean frowned. He almost chalked this one up to and an old house and bad wiring when he heard what sounded like scratching as he came up into the kitchen. It was faint and far off but he could hear it all right. No dishes on the floor and no unmistakable air of cat so the lady didn’t have any pets. Dean peered into the sitting room where Lacey was sipping delicately at her tea as she discussed some of her issues with the house. Dean couldn’t see his brother’s face but that was definitely his sympathetic puppy dog posture and Dean gave Sammy a mental thumbs-up.

Castiel, with that eerie way of his, turned to catch Dean’s eye just as it became visible around the corner. Castiel quickly excused himself but it went relatively unnoticed, he spared Dean a frown as he approached.

“What is it?” Castiel asked.

“Dude, you have got to stop doing that,” Dean chastised.

“What is it I must stop?” Castiel cocked his head.

Dean flashed a little smile and shook his head, “Never mind, I just thought your whole mind-reader thing was Angel-powered.”

“I don’t need abilities to understand you Dean, even though I am human now I know you inside and out. I remember it well from when I—” Castiel began.

“Gripped me tight and raised me from perdition… blah, blah, blah…” Dean shook his head and rolled his eyes but it wasn’t malicious just a fond familiarity. “I heard a scratching sound… I dunno, almost like it was coming from the wall, but it stopped. The EMF was clean but I haven’t checked out the back hallway yet. I think that’s where the old lady’s room is so I was waiting until she was good and distracted.”

They both heard it then, a distant skittering noise from down the short corridor that Castiel found himself boldly venturing down ahead of Dean. It was not the first time Castiel had done so, it was innately within him to protect Dean and he sometimes forgot that now he was only human. It was however, since his fall, the first time Dean allowed it. Dean made a small aggravated sound from behind Castiel but didn’t push him back like he had in situations before. Apparently scratching in the walls did not translate into some massive paranormal threat that endangered Castiel’s survival. Or maybe being promoted to ‘Angry Kitten’ meant Castiel was allowed to take point on occasion. For this, if nothing else, Castiel was grateful. Being treated as spun sugar was extremely aggravating. Castiel understood probably better than anyone that Dean was just trying to protect him but angel or not, Castiel was not weak and could take care of himself.

Castiel tapped in the last vestiges of power which was really just an extra perceptiveness that humans had as infants but forgot as they aged. It is what allowed children to see spirits when adults could not.

The EMF reader buzzed. Dean looked down with surprise and held it up towards the wall, “Dude, check it out. See there? The plaster looks a little different.”

Castiel raised his hand and was just about to place it gently against a portion of plaster that looked not quite as old as the rest when Sam’s approaching voice caused him to snap his hand away and for he and Dean both to make a hasty retreat to the kitchen and pretend Dean was peering up at the fluorescent light of the oven hood.

“The ladies are coming over to play Bridge soon Lovie, I’m sorry. Otherwise I wouldn’t cut our charming chat short,” the old lady batted her eyes up at Sam as she began puttering around with a tea set.

“That’s all right Ma’am, you’ve been very helpful,” Sam smiled tightly. “We’ll just be on our way now and call you to arrange a later date for the repairs once we have a quote for the costs.”

“Oh thank you so much,” the old woman smiled sweetly. She turned the gas on and lit the burner, then led them to the front door.

“Bye now,” she waved.

“Bye,” Sam said his voice coming out a little squeakier than what would be termed normal. Dean snorted and Castiel looked between the two with confusion.

“I’m fairly certain Mrs. Gray-Philips just touched Sam’s buttock inappropriately,” Castiel muttered to Dean as they returned to the car. Dean could only snort again.

-*-

They were all pretty well on the same page that this was a simple salt and burn, though this conclusion was not without its problems. The big problem with haunted old ladies was that their sleeping patterns were so unpredictable. The Winchesters could never be sure if their visits would go by with said old ladies sleeping blissfully unaware or if said old ladies would awaken with the slightest of provocation. Not to mention, a lot of the elderly had a difficult time sleeping through the night without three large men tramping through their houses to impede it further. They had decided to risk it though, Castiel was just too certain that the portion of wall he was about to examine was suspicious and Dean couldn’t help but agree, what with the EMF to back-up the assessment.

They needn’t have worried however, because the moment the Winchesters and Castiel climbed the landing and Sam was kneeling before the lock to pick it they heard a blood curdling scream from within the house. Without another thought for stealth Dean and Sam reared away from the wall and with a resounding crash they both kicked the heavy wood in. Castiel ducked in front of them before Dean could caution him to stay put and all three careened through the kitchen and around the corner where the old lady was huddled up against a closet at the end of the short hallway hands over her face. All three raised their sawed-offs and all three fired a blast. There was no telling which struck the spirit looming over the woman but all that mattered was the shot succeeded in dematerializing what appeared to be the ghost of a man.

Lacey was panting and quivering against the wall staring sightlessly before her hardly acknowledging the presence of the three men. Dean prodded Sam forward who in turn gave Dean a look as if he had swallowed a lemon whole. But, with a heavily aggrieved sigh Sam slumped over to the woman.

“Ma’am, you can relax now. We’re here to help you,” Sam assured in his best soothing tone.

Lacey reached up and clung to Sam’s lapels, “Oh my! What was that?!”

Sam’s smile was strained when he answered, “Don’t you worry Ma’am. Is there someone you can go stay with? A friend or a relative? We’ll get this sorted right out and then you can come right back home.”

Lacey shuddered, “My d…daughter, I can go stay with my daughter. She lives a few streets over.”

“Great that’s fan—”

Sam’s words were cut off by another scream as the spirit reappeared looming over Sam and Lacey. Sam grabbed the petite old woman and scrambled away.

“Jesus!” he cursed. The spirit was indeed that of a man, probably middle aged and he looked to have been beaten within an inch of his life. His neck hung at a strange angle and bruises stood out in sharp blue relief on the pale manifestation of his body. Sam managed to get his shotgun up, but he was at an awkward angle and shot wide. He scrambled back further. Castiel moved to rush forward to help him, an iron candle stick holder in hand, not wanting to risk firing with Sam and the old woman so close. Sam was currently wrestling with the groaning ghost, using his shotgun as a pathetic shield between them.

“Cas!” Dean snapped, fishing his keys out of his pocket and holding them out. “Take Lacey and drive her to her daughter’s!”

“Dean I can hel—” Castiel glared at the other man.

“Damnit Cas! Don’t argue with me. Go!” Dean shook the keys in emphasis. Castiel glared for a moment longer before rolling his eyes and grabbing the keys. He tossed the candle stick holder across the room managing to knick the ghost with it and banishing it once more.

“Come Mrs. Philips,” Castiel said, scooping the woman up and ushering her from the house.

“Dude, did he just roll his eyes at me?” Dean gaped.

Sam was still panting from his ghost encounter but that did not stop his lips from twitching a little into a convulsive smile, “Dude, he just rolled his eyes at you.”

“That little bitch,” Dean said slightly baffled.

“Grow up so fast, huh?” Sam’s twitching smile grew broader before it vanished entirely and he raised his shotgun. Dean ducked the moment he saw the glint off the barrel and the ghost who had been about to grab him around the throat disappeared with a shimmer.

“All right, let’s light this fucker up, he’s really starting to piss me off,” Dean muttered angrily storming over to the wall and fishing for the hatchet in their duffle. Before Dean could strike, he heard Sam make a small strangled noise, followed by a loud clatter. Dean dropped the axe and picked up his shotgun. He turned in time to see his brother sprawled on the floor woozy and completely useless but was too late to see where the ghost may have gone. He glared around the small hallway, body tense and waiting. He started away from the wall as the ghost reappeared directly in front of him only to disappear the moment Dean had his gun raised.

He felt something cold and crawling at his back but knew he would never spin in time to strike which is promptly when he felt something soft, slender and warm slam into him followed by a deafening shotgun blast at close range. Dean shook himself from his prone position and immediately noticed Castiel sprawled between his legs, shotgun raised and panting. Castiel had knocked Dean out of harm’s way with his back taking them both down but leaving the ghost in sight. Dean gaped at him. Sam groaned from the corner. Sirens wailed in the near distance.

“Shit,” Dean cursed.

“We must go,” Castiel agreed in his own way. He scooped up the duffle and jogged over to Sam, Dean hot on his heels.

“We can return tomorrow night,” Castiel concluded. Both took either side of Sam’s large unsteady frame and hobbled with him out the back door and around the corner to the awaiting Impala. All three were sinking with the realization that the simple salt and burn case had been a spectacular failure.

-*-

“Okay, what I don’t get,” Dean said tossing his burger to the paper wrapping on the table in front of him, “is how the bastard got in the old lady’s walls in the first place?”

“Perhaps the old lady put him there,” Castiel offered.

“Seriously? She’s gotta weigh eighty pounds soaking wet and she’s _frail_ , Man… How’s Gigantor?” Dean said. It turned out somehow Sam managed to score himself a concussion in the last few minutes of the fight and was currently sleeping it off on one of the two motel beds. Castiel used his extrasensory abilities to probe at Sam for a moment before turning his attention back to Dean.

“He is well. I believe he is in no danger from the head injury.” Then Castiel’s lips twitched into a shadow of a smile, “The only lasting injury is to his pride, I’m sure. Perhaps he should have taken Mrs. Philips to her daughter’s rather than I.”

Dean rolled his eyes then snapped them back around to glare at Castiel, “Dude! You rolled your eyes at me earlier. So not cool, Man!”

“I learn all I do as a human from you Dean,” Castiel said plainly though there was an unmistakable trace of teasing humour in his blue gaze.

“Oh so you suddenly being a little shit is all my fault?” Dean protested.

Castiel blinked, wide and guileless, “Whatever gave you that impression Dean?”

Dean just shook his head, “All right, all right. Enough with the eyes… You really think that old lady is capable of what you’re implying?”

“Dean, all humans are innately capable of murder. Age and ability have nothing to do with it. It all comes down to morality and as you well know morality can be viewed with a different slant to different people. You yourself are morally ambiguous, you must admit,” Castiel pointed out.

“Well, that’s different. I’m a Hunter, I have to be morally ambiguous or people die. But an old woman what could possibly drive her?”

“As I see it, she’s one of two things: a mother defending her child or a sociopath,” Castiel’s lips quirked again.

“Oh because that makes things so much better,” Dean shared the smile despite himself. “No moral ambiguity there at all.”

“No, not an ounce,” Castiel deadpanned.

Dean took another bite of his burger and chewed thoughtfully. Sam was out, not do for his rude awakening for another hour. Castiel was relaxed and well and Dean was bored. Dean pushed his chair away from the table with scrape making the former angel wince.

“All right, enough introspection. Time for Dean Teaches Castiel to Play Poker, Part II: The Art of the Bluff,” Dean retrieved the old warn deck of cards with suspicious stains from his duffle bag and cut the deck. He gave Castiel the brief lesson and then sat back to watch the magic. The former angel was a damn natural at this game and he would make a hell of a partner for any backdoor gambling pits Dean and Sam may take him to.

Halfway through the hand, Dean was losing spectacularly and found he didn’t really mind. He watched Castiel stare intently at his hand, and absently reach a graceful finger up to brush stray lock of just too long hair from his eye. It was probably time to take Cas for a haircut but Dean found the longer look seemed to suit the former angel pretty well and couldn’t really bare to take him to the barber yet. The dark bangs made the brilliant blue eyes stand out all the more vividly and the wild locks gave him just a hint of danger that he had lost when his Grace vanished.

Oh sure, Castiel could still bring out the death glare with the best of them and was intimidating as it was but the hair added mystery, an equal desire to just figure the man out. One flash of those midnight blues and he could often have witnesses spilling their souls in an effort to please him. Dean found it a little disconcerting, especially when the woman would come up to Castiel in bars and flirt blatantly. A frisson of something always tingled Dean’s gut when that happened. A frisson of something he was not as of yet prepared to explore.

Another lock of hair fell into Castiel’s eyes and Dean suddenly had the absurd desire to reach up and brush it away, his fingers practically itched with the need. Plastic chips landing with a hallow tinkle on the growing pile snapped that notion right out of Dean’s head and he matched Castiel’s bet after a quick glance at his cards.

He wasn’t sure if he was willing to raise the stakes just yet. He’d give it time.

-*-

The next morning, after a breakfast run, Dean and Castiel drove by the old woman’s house to get a lay of the land. Sam was still laid up with his concussion because even though he insisted he was perfectly fine, the minute he got to his feet he teetered dangerously and fell back on the bed. Dean gave him two aspirin and promised to bring him food dragging the sleepy and grumpy former angel behind him out the door. Castiel woke right up at the sight that greeted them once they arrived at Lacey’s home.

There were two police cruisers sitting out front of the house, lights flashing, crime scene tape strung across the banisters of the front step. CSI trucks and a coroner vehicle also lined the street.

“Damnit,” Dean muttered, tossing the breakfast sandwich he had happily been munching on into the back seat and reaching into the glove compartment. His elbow brushed Castiel’s knees as he moved in and they both paused, tense for a moment before Dean snapped out of it and fished around in the compartment for their FBI badges. Dean pulled out three and looked through them tossed the one reading ‘Sam Beard’ back in and handing Castiel his. Neither of them was really dressed to play FBI Guy but they could always pretend to be undercover. Castiel looked especially out of sorts in his fraying at the bottom, too long jeans and oversized jacket and T-shirt. Dean once again made a mental note to get Cas some clothes that didn’t belong to Dean.

“Really? We’re going in there dressed like this?” Castiel questioned.

“Just go with it, Man. We need to figure out what’s going on. Hold yourself all stiff and awkward like usual and we’ll be fine. Just… don’t speak if you’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” Castiel _almost_ huffed but not quite. Dean gave a happily puzzled smile.

“I’m concerned that we won’t be convincing when it looks like I’m playing dress up and you look like a reject from the cast of _Footloose_ ,” Castiel continued.

Now Dean’s mouth fell open in shock, “Wait, wait, wait… Did you, Castiel former Angel of the Lord and Retriever of Winchesters from Hell, just make a pop culture reference? And a _joke_ at that?”

“I have been watching that infernal television a surprising amount lately and that damned advertisement for the film keeps airing,” Castiel retorted. “It has almost succeeded in making me intrigued to view it but I have resisted thus far.”

Dean snorted as they climbed out of the car. They walked a few steps in silence before Castiel opened his mouth again, “And it wasn’t a joke, you do look like a _Footloose_ reject.”

Dean stuttered to a stop and gaped at Castiel’s back, “Dude! Not. Cool.”

“Hello Detective. I am Agent Cass Gibbons and approaching is my partner Agent Dean Hill, FBI,” Castiel was flashing the potbellied detective his fake badge as Dean came up behind him. Dean hastened to flash his own.

The detective stuck his hands in the pockets of his ugly brown suit and surveyed the two younger men intently, “You two are Feds?”

“Yes, we’ve been investigating the disappearance of Mrs. Gray-Philips’ son-in-law and have come here on numerous occasions,” Castiel lied smoothly, impressing even Dean.

“Really…” the detective was still sceptical.

“Yes, because of our involvement in her son-in-law’s case, we were informed of the suspicions. Are they true then?” Dean cut in before the detective could pose any further questions of his own.

“What? The old lady’s murder?” the detective frowned scratching his head. 

“Yes, of course,” Dean replied.

“Looks more like a home invasion gone wrong, if you ask me. Place is trashed. You know how them murder rumours travel though, ain’t surprised you boys woulda caught wind of it. Sorry to waste your time,” the detective shrugged.

“We would very much like to survey the scene for ourselves Detective. If you wish we can have our supervisors contact one another to confer before proceeding,” Castiel took up the slack, darkening his voice a little in a way that never failed to intimidate.

The detective paled a little for a moment, and Dean suspected it was because of the smell of cheap scotch that was leaking out of his pores.

The potbellied man waved it off, “Nah… not necessary. You boys can go on in. You know the drill though, don’t touch nothing.”

“Which would imply we can touch whatever we please,” Castiel responded, brushing past the detective.

“Huh?” the man blinked. Dean snickered and Castiel just smiled winningly. Dean narrowed his eyes at the smile. Apparently their little former angel was monkeying Sammy as well as Dean, if that grin was anything to go by. Dean wondered when he’d stop being surprised by the former angel and a part of him really wanted to explore all aspects that he could of that thought. 

Dean blushed suddenly and coughed, “What can you tell us?”

“Not much. Mrs. GP lived alone. Her kids didn’t visit all that much. She’s got three of them, but of course you’d know that given the whole disappearance case…”

“Of course,” Dean agreed.

The detective took pause for a moment before continuing, “Couple of neighbours only saw three guys coming into the house and leaving within the last few days. And they heard some strange noises last night. Called the PD but the house was empty by the time they got there. It wasn’t until this morning when the vic’s daughter went to return her casserole dish that they found the old broad. Dunno where she was when the cops showed up the first time, but I sure as hell know where she is now.”

“These three men… any description?” Dean asked a little nervously but without betraying that.

“Nah, nothing that’d you call useful. All the witness said was three white males. Dark hair. Tall... Hell! You guys could be two of them,” the detective laughed.

“Yes, terribly amusing. Where is Mrs. Gray-Philips?” Castiel glared at the detective. The man sobered under the weight of that look.

“Hallway, looks like she’d just come out of her bedroom,” the detective gestured with his head through the kitchen. “Have fun.”

“Thanks Detective,” Dean smiled. The man just ‘yeah-yeah’d’ and wandered off.

“All right, weird. If the daughter only found her this morning, whose house did you drop the lady off at and what ever happened to her little Bridge party if you, me and Sammy were the only ones to come or go? And what the hell was she doing back here, anyway?” Dean asked in a hushed tone as they knelt next to Lacey after shooing away the CSI combing the remains.

“How am I to know?” Castiel replied.

“Use your freaky sense thing,” Dean replied.

“Dean,” Castiel said exasperated, “I can’t use it to contact the dead. Though I can tell you there is definitely something supernatural here. This was no home invasion.”

“No shit Sherlock,” Dean replied pulling the hastily retrieved EMF detector out of his inside pocket, it lit up like a tree on Christmas Eve.

“I rather enjoyed that film,” Castiel remarked absently. “It was on television a few weekends previous. Bobby and I watched it when you and Sam abandoned me there to go hunt that shtriga which I would have been perfectly capable of assisting with.”

“Jeeze Cas, don’t say it like that. You make us sound like dead-beat dads are something,” Dean muttered.

“Of which we are all experts,” Castiel pronounced bitterly then abruptly rose. “There’s nothing more we can do here. We’ll just return tonight and fin—” 

Castiel suddenly had the strange and disconcerting feeling of his world teetering and shivering around him. He blinked, once or twice and looked down at himself then around. He was very much alone. There was no prone body of Mrs. Lacey J. at his feet and no warmth of Dean at his back. In fact he didn’t even feel like himself, he felt smaller, younger, weaker. He cocked his head and glared around the hallway when he heard it: a heavy scrape of metal on wood followed by a splitting pain at his temple. Castiel spun, raising his arms reflexively and saw sweet little Mrs. Lacey J. with dark vicious eyes wielding a cast iron fireplace poker in hand. She brought it down for another strike and Cas felt the pain radiate from the sensitive juncture of neck and shoulder straight to his ankles. His knees gave and he fell painfully onto the hardwood. Another surprisingly strong blow to his back and he fell forward gasping. Just barely catching his weight on his hands, his wrists screaming with the effort, which is precisely the moment when panic set in. The cool rough metal of the poker was thrown over his head and around his neck, putting unrelenting pressure on his delicate windpipe, crushing the life out of him and perfectly blocking the air from reaching his already screaming lungs.

“You worthless sack!” Lacey screeched. “You aren’t good enough for my girl! She had it! She had it! She had it all! And now there’s you. I told her to get rid of you. To leave you. Kyle would surely take her back! But no she told me! No! Me! _No Mama, I can’t do that again. I can’t go through a divorce, **again.**_ So fine. Fine. If that is how it will be, that is how it will be. I’ll take care of it, mother always fixes everything for her babies and they’ll never find you Dear. I promise.”

Castiel’s world was gone in a wash of dark and then he was back again to Dean shouting into his ear and roughly shaking him. Castiel found that he was surprisingly comfortable, with the soft woosh-woosh of air in a diaphragm and the gentle warmth of an abdomen against his head and knees at his back. Castiel murmured happily.

“Cas?”

“Dean, she did it. She killed her son-in-law then hid his body in the walls,” Castiel rasped, breaking out of his lazy daze.

“Cas how do you know…”

“I saw it,” Castiel snapped, voice harsh and rough, struggling to his feet. Dean hindered for only a moment then decided to help before any of the cops or investigators returned.

“Okay, okay, you saw it then. Fine, so the ghost killed her in revenge?” Dean asked as he ushered Castiel out of the house and around the crawling police, a hand firmly on Castiel’s elbow as if afraid he’d slip away again.

“Yes, vengeance. Dean… I have the horrible thought in my mind that Lacey deserved what occurred here. It’s very… uncomfortable,” Castiel admitted.

“Dude, she wacked her son-in-law and shoved him in the walls of her house right next to her bedroom. Of _course_ she deserved it… So if he got his revenge… Do you think that’s it then? Think it’s done?” Dean asked easing Castiel into the passenger side of the Impala even while the former angel was batting his hands away.

“Perhaps… but that doesn’t mean we should leave a mouldering corpse in the walls of someone’s home. It would probably be safer if we removed and burned the body. Vengeful spirits can become easily confused and perhaps even…”

“…Traumatized. Yeah, I know the drill,” Dean said grimly. “We’ll come back and hold ourselves a demolition-bonfire fusion party tonight. It’ll be swell.”

“Highly unlikely,” Castiel replied bland in voice, but out of the corner of his eye Dean saw the little amused smile.

Dean waited until they were further down the road and grinned over at Cas, “So can’t use it to contact the dead then, huh?”

“Oh shut up,” Castiel replied.

-*-

When Dean and Castiel returned to the motel it was to find Sammy sitting up and idly flipping through the channels. It was unusual for Sam to be watching TV and not have his face buried in his computer but Dean figured the glaring LCD of the laptop was too much for his little brother’s pounding head to take. 

Dean tossed the paper bag he had been holding on the bed at Sam’s hip. Sam reached over and rifled through, pulling out the take-out cup of oatmeal he had been presented with. He stuck his spoon in the cold congealed mass and frowned over at Dean.

“What? You were the one who wanted it. We got side-tracked,” Dean said defensively.

“What possibly could have side-tracked you? You and Cas get freaky in the back seat of the Impala or something?” Sam impishly remarked.

“If you didn’t have a head injury I’d slap you,” Dean threatened in his perfect big brother voice.

“Because I have a head injury you could have gotten me a decent breakfast,” Sam pouted, tossing the oatmeal aside and picking up the fruit bowl. It was warm, and as a result, a little more syrupy than Sam would have preferred but it was still edible. He stabbed his fork into a piece of melon and chewed hastily.

“Sam, if you don’t like melon why do you eat it?” Dean quirked a brow.

“It’s healthy,” Sam replied, matter-of-fact bitch-face on display.

“Yeah, so are mushrooms, but I don’t eat fungus on principle,” Dean retorted.

“That’s a very good principle,” Castiel agreed.

“Thanks Cas. See? One of you can use their common-sense brain,” Dean slumped down into a chair at the dinette table.

“So what had you distracted?” Sam asked, flicking off the television.

Castiel blinked at Sam, “Impala sex. We discussed this.”

Dean let out a sharp, loud bark of laughter at the unexpectedness of it all, and Sam choked on the piece of melon he was squirreling away, which caused Dean to laugh all the harder. 

Once the chuckling subsided, Dean squeezed Castiel’s shoulder and wiped the tears from his eyes, “Man, good job on that one.”

“You and my brother can’t play together anymore,” Sam glared at the former angel.

Dean and Cas both opened their mouths to give another witty remark but Sam held up a hand indicating they cease and desist.

“Seriously, guys... What happened?” Sam asked. His head hurt way too much to deal with the Chuckle Twins right now. Sam also made a mental note to rescind Castiel’s TV watching privileges. The younger Winchester preferred the former angel _before_ he had a sense of humour.

“Mrs. Gray-Philips has been killed,” Castiel replied, finally taking pity on the tall man.

“What? How?” Sam blinked.

“Gee Sammy, you think the angry vengeful spirit living in her house had anything to do with it?” Dean remarked sarcastically.

“But… she wasn’t supposed to even be there,” Sam said.

“Apparently, she didn’t care where she was supposed to be. According to the cops it sounded like she never even went to her daughter’s place. For all we know she just gave Cas a random house and that was that,” Dean shrugged.

“She disappeared around the edge of the house. I assumed she was using an alternate entrance as to not disturb her daughter,” Castiel offered in explanation.

“No worries, Man. Not blaming you for it,” Dean assured. “Hell, if you had waited around and not come back when you did, you’d probably have both me and Sammy to babysit right now.”

“Yes, quite,” Castiel’s lips twitched up a softer version of his usual barely there smile. “I’m very glad I made it in time.” Dean felt warm and uncomfortable for a moment but chose not to explore it.

“So you think we may have two angry spirits to deal with now? That poor woman…” Sam faltered.

“Poor nothing, Sammy. She was the one who ganked sonny boy in the first place. Cas said,” Dean shrugged.

“Cas said? How does Cas know that for sure?” Sam raised a suspicious brow.

“Oh yeah, you’re not Psychic Boy anymore. Since you’ve gone all limp and stuff anyway, Cas gets that auspicious title now,” Dean grinned.

“Huh?” was Sam’s elegant response.

“I’m not _psychic_ ,” Castiel responded practically spitting out the word.

“Dude, you were the one who mind-melded with a ghost!” Dean declared.

“Huh?!” Sam’s response was a little more forceful now but no more articulate.

-*-

Dean and Castiel opted to finish the job alone. When Sam tried to get up to come along he wobbled woozily and nearly lost his footing. The taller Winchester slumped back to the bed, angry and worried and threatening his brother and the former angel with bodily harm if they went and got themselves killed. Dean made an off colour joke about corpse mutilation which Sam didn’t find amusing before he and Castiel left the motel leaving Sam to rest on the bed.

Now they stood outside Lacey’s house, Dean wrestling with the lock while Castiel kept watch and a firm grip on his shotgun. If Dean didn’t know any better he’d say the former angel was nervous, but Dean had known him pretty damn well for several years now and he figured it was something other than nerves. Then again though, human Cas was a strange new animal, he still seemed so very _Cas_ still but more and less all at once. Dean found himself endlessly intrigued by this version of his friend and maybe just a little in awe. He was remarkably well adjusted but still so confused about human life. Dean was happy to note that illegally possessed pharmaceuticals and alcohol were nowhere on his radar. Dean found this a remarkably relieving though after meeting the fiasco that was human-Cas in 2014 all those year ago. 

There was also something else too, something that drew Dean in more so than his angelic form had. Dean never denied there was some weird connection between them and Castiel never denied it either. A fact the damn former angel exploited it at every turn. Like the other morning when the little snot let his towel sink and gave Dean a tantalizing view of firm pale backside which Dean stomped down on as quick as it appeared and denied vehemently thereafter.

“Dean, I heard the click. Why are you waiting?” Castiel’s whispered voice broke Dean’s thoughts and he blushed slightly, glad the darkness hid the tinge. 

“Let’s go. You get your ass kicked I’m not sticking around to save it, you hear?” Dean snarled at the other man, making sure his point was perfectly understood.

“I’ll be fine,” Castiel glared back, a hint of that ever-growing aggravation at being babied slipping into his tone. It was very similar to his smiting tone without being at all terrifying. Dean actually thought it was a little cute, which he also denied vehemently. Castiel seemed to take notice of his own impotence as Dean didn’t even flinch and fell into pouty silence.

“All right let’s go. Watch yourself,” Dean reiterated.

Castiel followed behind and then commented just loud enough for Dean to hear, “I would say the same thing to you, considering I saved _your_ ass last time, in case you have forgotten.”

Dean spun and shook his head, “Dude, did you just snark me? Man, kitty’s got claws…”

Castiel had it. That was it. He wasn’t going to take Dean’s attitude anymore. He had rolled with the punches in a way he would never have allowed himself to do in his glory days and had enough of it. He summoned up memories of showing Dean exactly what he thought of his poor outlook and though it made him feel guilty it also gave him the strength he needed for this.

Castiel reached out and grabbed Dean’s shoulder. Manoeuvring him wasn’t as easy as it used to be. Dean wasn’t that much taller but he had more muscle mass than Jimmy and by extension Castiel ever had. But Jimmy had been a runner and a swimmer he was strong enough. 

Castiel pushed at Dean and almost succeeded in slamming him against the cream-white wall of Lacey’s front hall, rattling precariously hanging pictures as he did so. Dean’s green eyes were wide in surprise and shock which probably accounted for his complete lack of struggle at the vulnerable position Castiel had forced him into. Castiel kept a hand firm and splayed against Dean’s chest, his other still held his shotgun.

“That is enough,” Castiel said low and dangerous. “I have sat back and accepted much more of your jeering and snide comments than I am entitled to. I took it. I accepted it for what it was. But I can handle myself, Dean. I may not be who I was, but I am still me. I am not going to allow your insolence to continue, do you understand? I have proven to you and Sam both over the last several months that I can do this. I can be a hunter and a good one at that. I have vast years of knowledge behind me, I am more skilled at hand-to-hand combat that you could ever hope to be and can still wield a blade as I did when I was one of the strongest warriors in the garrison. I flew into hell, fought countless demons for countless decades to get to you. I no longer retain the grace that made me an angel, but I do retain the abilities that made me a soldier and as I told you once before, I will tell you again. _You should show me some respect_. Or I’ll make you show me some respect… So Dean, do _you hear_?” 

Dean could only blink at the steel in the gaze and the power that was no longer there but still somehow seemed to eminent from this creature’s very pores. Perhaps a spark remained, and perhaps it was that spark that made Dean’s heart quicken just a little in fear and something else entirely. Or maybe it was just Cas. Castiel, as he was. Dean felt like an asshole. 

This was his friend, not some random victim he had rescued form a random case and now had to babysit until it got sorted. It was Cas, the guy he knew, admired and hell yeah, loved. Loved in a way Dean hadn’t delved too deeply into as of yet, but loved nonetheless. There had been times before that he felt it, times that ‘brother’ wasn’t actually an accurate definition for the man before him. Times when he saw those blue eyes flash or glint. That secret smile and the soft steady thrum that never failed to vibrate in Dean when Castiel was still an angel. 

The time with Lisa had dulled it a little, but it had never fully gone away. Now, spending day in and day out with him, learning to know him as well as if not better than Dean knew Sam that ‘brother’ title he had thrown out there was feeling flat and a tad bit incestuous. That strange stirring Dean had felt from that very first moment in the barn had grown and steadied and became all too tangible and Dean had just been kidding himself for the last four years. That little revelation on top of his bad attitude lately, maybe asshole was not nearly strong enough a word.

Dean swallowed and nodded, “Yeah Cas. I’m sorry, Man. I’ve been a bit of an ass.”

Castiel pulled back finally and quirked an eyebrow, “Just a bit?”

Dean grinned, “All right, all right. I’ve been a big giant _assbutt_ , that better?”

Cas, anger gone suddenly and feeling on more even footing than he had in days, nodded and even let a little chuckle escape, “Yes. Better.”

“All right, let’s give Casper the spa treatment,” Dean rubbed his hands together gleefully. It was nice having to deal with a good old salt and burn again.

“Yes le—” Castiel’s agreement was cut abruptly off as he went rigid and found himself flung across the room just as suddenly and all he could think was, _Well, there’s my big, brave speech shot to hell._

“Cas! Jesus Christ!” Dean cursed. Castiel was still conscious but a little muddled and Dean found it hard to keep an eye on him to assess his condition further while his nerves were all firing trying to track the spirit of sonny-in-law. 

“He has nothing to do with this,” Castiel gritted out, stumbling to his feet. “I’m fine Dean.”

“You better be or I’m slapping the training wheels back on first chance I get!” Dean snapped back, fear and worry creeping into the threatening words, revealing them for what they were.

The ghost refused to materialize for several tense moments, choosing instead to manifest in dangerous parlour tricks and every haunting trope ever explored in B-movies. Glass shattered in curio cabinets, objects were thrown across the room, the cutlery drawer in the kitchen rattled ominously. A sudden wind struck up, rendering any thought to salt lines utterly useless. Dean and Castiel crept further into the parlour until they stood back-to-back peering towards the hallway to the piece of wall that seemed to beat and breathe with each new strike of inspiration.

“We’re going to have to make a break for it,” Dean said, not liking his idea at all.

“Agreed,” Castiel said in much the same resigned tone. With a deep breath on both their parts Castiel and Dean solidified their grips on their shotguns and after a beat dove into the kitchen, spinning around the corner until they reached the back hallway. Cas let out a broken strangled cry which he quickly disguised as a grunt when an ornamental porcelain rooster flew off the pine table and crashed into his back. 

“Chop or distract?” Dean asked dropping the duffle off his shoulder.

Cas hesitated, “Chop.”

“Fine,” Dean kicked the bag over to Castiel and Castiel traded his shotgun for the hatchet.

“All right, Steve-o! Guess what we’re gonna do!” Dean raised his voice in an irritating sing-song hoping to make the ghost materialize and then give himself something to shoot at. Dean was well past the phase of wanting to shoot at things. Enough, was enough.

Castiel didn’t think there was much merit in taunting an extremely irritated spirit. Dean was playing the role of distraction however and Castiel supposed it was better than getting small kitschy fowl flung at him while he tried to work. That had been low, even for a ghost. 

“Enough with the thinking! Start with the chopping!” Dean ordered from across the hallway swinging wildly, batting away more objects that the spirit had apparently plucked from the nether.

Castiel didn’t have to be told twice. He swung the hatchet and cleaved into the plaster with a satisfying crunch. Hitting it again and again until the flaky, chalky substance began tumbling off in large chunks. He heard a crash and shatter behind him but opted not to look and distract himself especially now that he was hitting the wooden slats, underneath the lower layer of plaster, that served as insulation in the old houses. Castiel wondered absently how the woman put them back in place so neatly once she shoved the rotting corpse of her daughter’s husband into the space beyond.

Then the smell hit Castiel first, a stomach churning, nose crinkling eye watering smell that a year and a half of decay did not dampen. The body hadn’t quite mummified, the climate too humid for that to occur but it had enough for the wall to prevent most of the stench from curling out into the home beyond. It was still disgusting and Castiel had to fight very, very hard not to vomit. He could only see a sliver of brown skin behind the soft wooden slats but it was enough for his chopping to turn to yanking as he wedged the hatchet in vigorously. Soon the wood was splintering away in spongy slow movements and Castiel finally saw enough of the corpse to have access to a decent salt and burn. 

Just as he was fumbling around for the lighter fluid he heard his name wrench free from Dean several feet away and felt the cold rough hardness of a fireplace poker slide around his neck. It was only a manifest of one, no way that the ghost could touch real iron, but the spirit had reserved enough energy to make it real enough to choke the air from Castiel’s lungs and have him spinning to the flashback whirlwind that he went on only that morning.

A strangled cry, in no way disguised this time, ripped free from Castiel’s throat as he flailed around trying to strike at the all too solid body of the ghost behind him. Unnervingly solid. Perhaps the death it had caused the night previous lending to his strength. Castiel had heard tell of spirits absorbing the spirits of those it killed until they were strong and nearly unbeatable, back when he was still an angel in Heaven.

The spirit of the son-in-law was relentless and Castiel was beginning to lose his ability to fight as Dean strained against whatever force was holding him in place at the other end of the hallway. Castiel looked across the space, hoping his eyes relayed the message he was intending and with one last weak claw at poker Castiel felt his gaze blacken and darken. _I’m so, so sorry Dean_.

-*-

Castiel awoke to the smell of wood smoke acridly burning his nostrils. The next thing he registered was a warm lap under his head and shoulders, solid hands on his chest comforting. The third thing Castiel realised was that Dean was calling his name and judging from the roughness in his voice and the tone, he had been doing it for quite a while.

Castiel cracked open his gaze to find himself sprawled on the dewy grass of someone’s lawn, flames flickering in the near distance and thick black smoke curling up into the night sky obscuring whatever stars had been on display earlier that evening. Most of that however was blocked by the concerned green eyes and tense worried face of Dean staring down at him. There was a look in those very green eyes so deep and meaningful that Castiel had to catch his breath in his throat and blink a few times in case he was imaging it.

“Fuck Cas, don’t you ever do that to me again,” Dean whispered, voice strained, hands curling in the shirt Castiel wore that was getting soaked through on the back now. He shivered in the cool night air.

“Dean I…” Castiel didn’t really know what to say. ‘Sorry’ didn’t really seem to cut it given the look Dean was shooting him and ‘I’m cold and wet’ seemed insensitive.

“Oh shit, Cas. You must be freezing. Come on. Can you stand? Are you okay?” Dean asked. Castiel chose to only nod in response, his short utterance from seconds before had put a remarkable strain on his bruised throat and he didn’t wish to experience the pain of speaking again. Dean ushered the shaky former angel to his feet and shrugged out of his leather jacket. Castiel gratefully slipped into the warm, worn skin clutching it around him while he fought the chattering of his teeth.

As Dean led Castiel away, it wasn’t with a look or a gesture. Dean slung his arm around Castiel’s hunched shoulders, warm solid weight crushing against Castiel’s side. Dean’s fingers tight around Castiel’s arm, playing gently over the space, a flickering soothing dance.

“I thought I lost you Cas,” Dean whispered, lips very close to the shorter man’s ear, warm breath playing over the shell of soft skin. “I was so scared.” Castiel could only nod again sling his own arm around Dean’s waist, sidling as close as he could while still being able to walk without stumbling. Dean didn’t flinch or move away, just tightened his own grip on the blue eyed man.

-*-

When Castiel and Dean returned to the motel room it was to find Sam sitting up with his laptop open and shining, the taller Winchester’s eyes much clearer than they had been in a while. Dean let out a breath he had been holding the whole time and smiled at his brother. Castiel moved away from Dean’s side, they weren’t linked any longer but Castiel still stood familiarly close to the older Winchester and was still wearing Dean’s jacket. Sam noticed but chose not to comment. Dean reached out and snagged Castiel’s hand before he was out of reach. The former angel turned.

“Shower,” Castiel mouthed to the unspoken question. 

“Oh yeah, ‘course,” Dean nodded, releasing the other man, but slowly, their fingers lingering for just a beat before being let go entirely.

Sam looked at the closed bathroom door then back towards his brother, eyebrows lifted, “Good hunt? Successful?”

Dean took a moment before he answered then when he finally did it was with a gentle, warm grin, “Yeah. Think it was.”

Sam shook his head, a bemused smile playing on his lips before turning his attention back to the laptop. _About damn time_.

**End**


End file.
